


Worship

by QueenIX



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenIX/pseuds/QueenIX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An intimate scene, from Odo's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

“ _Please,”_ she breathes in my ear. The vibration ripples through me like a breeze rippling a pond. I shiver. Voices don't affect her the way they affect me. I can never quite explain it, how the rush of air, the caress of sound, can make me want her so much I would die for it as her words carry into me like an erotic symphony.

“ _Please, now_ ,” she says, and I obey. I would give her anything.

The heat, the wetness between her thighs waits for me, and I slip between the folds of her sex, guiding the head of my created member into that secret space. The snug mouth is open for me, accepts me, and I am undone as I press my way in. So tight, so hot, so wholly mineshe is. The walls of her sex hug me, flutter and expand, a pliant welcome from the smooth muscle encircling my rigid staff. I feel her open further, I slide further in, and sigh... We are one.

I revel in the feel of her beneath me, in the cream-silk skin, and the richly lashed irises that meet mine. I press my forehead to hers, and kiss her lips. Joined with her in the dark, I can almost believe in her gods. It is divine what we do, and should be worshiped.

How long do we stay that way, joined, still, worshiping? I don't know, but eventually, inevitably one of us breaks the spell, and we start to move. I pull back slowly, withdraw until I am almost out, and ease just as slowly back in. She moans, and her pelvis juts up to catch mine. She loves this part. I know because she tells me, with her thrown back head and the fingers that dig in my arm.

I love it too, even though what I am is borrowed. The form isn't mine, it isn't me, but that doesn't mean it isn't real. It certainly feels real as I plunge again, so _good_   inside her as I fill her full. She rolls her head to one side, exposing the white column of her throat, and I graze my teeth over the delicate skin. So lovely, so soft she is beneath me. I have never wanted anything so much as I do as her.

I must have slowed again. She squeezes my buttocks, encouraging me. I oblige, setting an easy rhythm of lazy strokes, sliding thick and heavy, in and out, of that mystery between her milky thighs. I love to watch her as I do this, watch her bite her lip and arch her neck, see her face glow with the pleasure I give her. I don't have much for comparison, but I don't need it. When my love makes love with me, she is the most beautiful creature in existence.

Arissa, too, was beautiful, but not like my love. Being with Arissa was composed, patient, our joining a careful and controlled study of a beloved subject, her body a cool, marble masterpiece I was allowed to learn from. But my love, my star, she is a tempest, a whirlwind, nature herself, and life. With her, it is elemental. She calls to the oldest part of me, a deep thing far inside and primal, a thing that answers only to her. For this woman, only this woman, I would do anything.

She moans and writhes under me as I thrust, as I watch. She twists and gasps. She makes small groans and whispers dirty-sweet things as her pleasure builds. Her urgency increases, and I know what she needs. I am blessed that I can give it to her. Moving quicker, eased by her slickness, I suck air through my teeth as she claws exquisite scratches down my back and hooks her legs behind mine. A glow burns on the paleness between her breasts, spreads up her throat, and I can feel its heat as I cup one perfect globe. I twirl its little nub and she cries out, thrashing her head wildly, side to side, as if in denial of what is to come, as if it is too much, but she must, and she can't, it can't, and she can't quite-

My love suffers, but I will help her. I plunge deeper, pressing her to the bed with my weight, driving her to the pinnacle she is trying to reach. Small but strong hands grip my shoulders, squeeze, and it hurts, but it's good. It adds to my pleasure, too much, and I take her hands one at time in mine and clasp them down. Her eyes are closed, her lips are pinched, and she has gone from me, entranced, but I can bring her back. I don't stop, keep thrusting, hard, fast, insistent, until she yields, until I get what I want, and when it comes, that primal thing growls with satisfaction.

She wilts into the bed for a suspended drop of time, the eye before the storm. She gasps, as if surprised, when it takes her, crying out my name. “ _Odo, Prophets, Odo!”_ She puts me in the same place with her gods, and I smile.  Her pelvis rolls up, grinds against mine, and I let go of her hands, releasing her in every way I can, letting her fly, letting her free. That unique part of her flutters, quivers around me. It massages in clenching muscle and liquid warmth, and my own limbs tremble, but not now, not yet, I will wait. A new wave takes her, and another, and she screams, and she is free, and she is mine.

Her eyes open slowly as she returns to herself, a smiling goddess residing in her temple, and my need will no longer wait. To be a thing is to know a thing, the Founder said, but she knows nothing of this. I am not human, I am not humanoid, but I remember. My so-different cells know what it was to be bound by flesh. As the delicious slide of her slick passage stimulates them, quivers, clenches, teases, driving them further and further into a frenzy, my love encourages me with secret words, with gentle promises, to give in, to let her help me, to let her have me, and I will, I would, Prophets I would give her

“Nerys!”

Her name is a shattered sound that fills the room. I shudder as I loose the form inside her, groan with the riptide rush of exalted relief, and I grip the headboard to keep from falling. Inside her is the real me, and my love accepts it, holding me with a buck of her hips, cradling me as my natural state laps the walls of her sex. I meld with those hidden depths, a million points of ecstasy joining us, and I would oh I would give her anything.

My love thinks she cannot link with me, but she is wrong.

As we lay spent, twined, _linked_ , I feel her tremor one last time, an aftershock that ripples low and long, and I slowly pull my cells back together. She cries when I do this, but I know she is not sad. I kiss her face and her tears. She smooths the hair away from my eyes.

“I love you, Odo,” she says as her tears well. She breathes deeply, and says it again, with a heart-born break in the words. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you, Nerys.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on characters belonging to Paramount. The characters are theirs, the story is mine.


End file.
